


Panic at the Dorm

by dcjuris



Series: The Stanford Years [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Stanford Student Sam Winchester, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-13
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-20 20:53:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30010773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dcjuris/pseuds/dcjuris
Summary: Sam has a panic attack. Dean rides to the rescue.
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Series: The Stanford Years [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2207676
Comments: 2
Kudos: 51





	Panic at the Dorm

Dean rolls over with a grunt, reaching for his phone. The clock glares at him in too-bright neon green. 1:45 AM. He's exhausted and sore after a shitty night spent digging up a corpse to salt its bones. He only took the damn case because it brought him close to Sam. He cracks open an eye and spots Sam's number. Speak of the Devil... He flips the phone open and settles back into the motel bed. "Miss me, baby boy?"

"Is this Dean?" That's definitely not Sam's voice.

Dean jolts up, instantly awake. "Who is this?"

"My name is Alice. I'm a friend of Sam's."

"What happened? Where's Sam?" Already on his feet, Dean stumbles into his jeans and starts searching for a shirt.

"He's in his dorm. I… I think he's having a panic attack. He was breathing really hard when I got here and he just kinda shoved the phone at me and said _Dean_."

Dean pulls the phone away long enough to yank his shirt on. He shoves his feet into his boots without bothering to lace them, and grabs his keys. "Give him the phone."

"He's curled up with his arms wrapped around himself and his fists clenched."

Dean swears under his breath. He heads out to the Impala. "Then put the phone to his ear so he can hear me."

Sounds of shuffling follow, and then a distantly yelled "Okay."

"Sam?" Dean starts up the car and shifts into drive. "Sammy? It's okay, Sammy. It's gonna be okay. I'm comin'. I'm on my way right now. I'm about an hour away. I'm in the car. Sammy? C'mon baby. You gotta talk to me. Gotta let me know you understand."

Sam doesn't respond, and Dean floors the gas peddle.

***

Dean takes the steps two at a time, hits the door at a run and charges down the hall to Sam's room. Times like this, he wishes Sam wasn't still on the waiting list for his own apartment. He bangs on the door twice. "It's Dean!"

A short redhead opens the door and steps back. "Thank God you're here. I think he's getting worse."

Sam is on the floor, curled in on himself, shaking, making little noises like a lost puppy. 

Dean pushes past her and sinks to his knees beside his brother. No one at college knows they're related—Sam insisted on telling everyone he's in a long distance relationship, because _I'm not gonna be able to keep my hands off you when you visit, Dean._ Dean scoffed at first, but right now he has to admit it's handy not to have to act like an aloof brother instead of a fully invested lover. He lays his hands firmly on Sam's shoulders and squeezes. "Sammy? C'mon, baby boy. It's me. It's Dean. C'mon, man."

"De—Dean?"

"Yeah. It's me."

Sam surges forward, wrapping his arms around Dean's middle and burying his face in Dean's chest. "Dean!"

"Shh. It's okay." He cards his fingers through Sam's hair with one hand, holds him tight with the other. God, he hates to see Sam like this. If he finds out someone hurt his brother he's going to kill them. "Shhh. Easy, baby boy. Easy. It's okay. I gotcha. I gotcha." He rocks Sam gently, whispering comfort.

"Can I help somehow?" the redhead asks.

Dean jumps. Shit—he forgot all about her. "Nah. I got it."

"Okay then. I'll just um…go."

"Thanks for callin' me."

"Yep." She turns and leaves.

Sam whines and shuffles closer, tightening his hold. He's stopped shaking, except for his hands. 

"Okay, Sammy. It's okay. I gotcha. Shhh." Dean presses a kiss to the top of Sam's head. 

"Dean?" His voice is scratchy and rough. 

"I'm here. I gotcha." How long they stay like that, Dean can't say. By the time Sam starts to stir, Dean's feet and legs have gone numb.

"Dean?" Sam blinks up at him, eyes red rimmed and glassy. "Why… how'd you know?"

"The redhead called me." He leans away a bit, and Sam's fingers twist in his shirt. "Easy, baby boy. I'm not goin' anywhere."

Sam sags against him. "God, I'm tired."

"Let's get you into bed. C'mon." He shuffles and shifts, pushes and drags until he gets Sam vertical, and then sitting on the edge of the bed. He kneels down and pulls Sam's shoes off. Socks, jeans, and shirt came next, until Sam sits, swaying slightly, in his boxers. Dean starts to go lock the door, and finds himself being half tackled, half grabbed.

"Easy, Sammy. I'm just gonna lock the door, okay? C'mon." He hefts Sam back onto the bed, but his brother's worried gaze follows him across the room, Sam's hands fist in the blanket as his breathing hitches. Dean locks the door and crosses back to Sam as fast as he can. "See? It's okay. I'm here."

Sam hangs his head and reaches out. "Dean."

"It's okay. I'm here." Dean kicks his shoes off and strips down to his boxers in record time. He maneuvers them both into the bed and pulls his brother close. It's a tight fit—Dean's ass is hanging off the side and their feet are tangled—but Dean makes it work. "It's okay, Sammy."

Sam clings to him, trembling, pressing his face into Dean's neck and breathing in his scent.

"Easy, now. I gotcha." Silence descends again, punctuated only by Sam's occasional sniffles and tiny gasps. Dean lets it surround them, lets it lull Sam until his brother's breathing is even and heavy. "You wanna talk about it?"

Sam shakes his head. 

"If someone hurt you, I need to know." It's not like Sam can't hold his own, but he belongs to Dean, and no one gets away with hurting him on Dean's watch. 

"It wasn't like that."

"Then what was it like?" Sam shakes his head again, but Dean's not having it. He leans away, ignores the way his heart clenches when Sam tries to keep him close. "Dude, I got a call in the middle of the night from some random chick. What happened?"

"Rick Danvers—"

"Who?" Whoever he is, he's going to meet Dean's fist. 

"Rick Danvers. He's a guy in one of my classes. His dad died like four months ago, but no one told him."

"Damn." Okay, Danvers gets to live. For now. 

"I guess they're estranged or whatever. I don't know. He's not even a friend or anything. But I overheard him talking about it, and I just..." He draws in a shaky breath and heaves it out. "I started thinking about you and Dad. That something could happen on a hunt, and I'd never know. I might not even have a body to bury."

"Sammy..." Dean pulls him in tight and pets his hair. There's nothing he can say to that—Sam's right, and they both know it. Best case, their deaths might make a local paper. Worst case...

"I just... I want you to be safe, Dean. I know you won't stop hunting, I'm not stupid enough to think that will happen."

"Hey"—he tilts Sam's face up gently—"I'm as careful as I can be. You know that. I'm not lookin' for an early grave."

"I know." He snuffles and presses a kiss to Dean's collarbone. "Can you stay the night?"

He can't, not really. He's supposed to meet up with Dad tomorrow morning. But Sam comes first. "As if I'd leave you alone after this."

Sam props his chin on Dean's chest and looks up at him. "You have to meet him somewhere, don't you?"

Goddamn his uncanny ability to tell when Dean's lying. "I'm not leaving you tonight, Sam. That's final."

"He's gonna be pissed."

Incredibly pissed, actually, but Dean will cross that bridge when he gets to it. He shrugs. "Won't be the first time he's been pissed at me."

"I hate that it's my fault, though."

"It's nobody's fault. Hell, blame Rick Danvers if you wanna. Doesn't matter. I'm here now, and I'm stayin'."

"Well, in that case..." Sam shifts and throws his leg over Dean, pushes himself up to straddle Dean's waist. "Better make it worth your while, huh?"

"Sammy..." Dean slides his hands up Sam's thighs to grip his waist. He's lost a little bit of weight. He's always been lean and lanky, but Dean can feel his ribs easier. "You eatin' enough?"

Sam rolls his eyes. "Seriously, Dean? That's where your mind is right now?"

"I worry about you, okay? Fuck."

"If you're so concerned about me eating, you better feed me." He licks his lips and slides down Dean's length. He tugs at the waistband of Dean's boxers with his teeth.

It's 700 different kinds of sexy-kinky-naughty-good-wrong, but Dean's not feeling it. Between the middle-of-the-night phone call, the broke-every-traffic-law drive and the last few hours of terrified little brother, his nurturing instincts are in overdrive. All he wants to do is cuddle Sam and ply him with lots of fatty food until he has cute little love handles and looks like a rumpled chipmunk. 

He gasps as Sam's clever fingers tickle his inner thigh. It's the wrong kind of gasp though—less of an _oh, baby, right there_ and more of a _fake it 'till you make it_. 

Sam's head snaps up, his eyes narrow and laser-focused on Dean. "You okay?"

"'sfine."

Sam sits up and rocks back on his heels. "What, man?"

Dean swipes a hand over his face. "I dunno. Just...feelin' kinda...parental, I guess."

It earns him a snort and a crooked smile, Sam's dimples on full display. Sam slaps the side of his leg and shifts, flopping down beside him. "Morning sex then?"

"Sounds good." 

Sam settles against him and snuggles in, face pressed into the crook of Dean's neck and shoulder, warm breath ghosting over Dean's skin. He snakes a slender arm around Dean's waist. "Thanks for coming," he murmurs. "I love you, jerk."

Dean kisses his temple. "Love you too, bitch."

**Author's Note:**

> I'm also a published author. I'm DC Juris. If you like my writing style, you can find my works on Amazon.


End file.
